The Gladiator: A Short Story

What the fuck is this? Iska wondered to herself, fingers plucking at the weird outfit she was made to wear. She was a proud Gaul, but here, the Romans saw fit to dress her like a savage, a barbarian, for that was how the mighty fuckin' Romans saw the Gauls, nothing more. She paced the cage that she'd been locked in. Iska had proven to be an unruly gladiator at time, sometimes even assaulting fellow gladiators of the same ludus during training with the slightest provocation. She was still paying the price for breaking the nose of a Scythia gladiator and ruining her good looks. Here at the ludus of the lanista Quintus Fabius Maximus, the gladiators were picked for more than just strength, but in good looks and sexual prowess for both proved useful in stirring the love of the crowd and the patronage of the Senate.

As she paced the cage, the ridiculous headdress she was told to wear
Without hesitation, she picked up her own buckler as well and slid it on her arm before resting the shaft of her spear on one shoulder as she walked up to the arena, hearing the steel door slam shut behind her and lock. "Hailing from Gaul! Behold the barbarism and savagery of Iska!" The crowd booed as loudly as they could and many cried out chants of "Go back where you came from, animal!", intensifying when the Gaul did not observe the same niceties her Thracian foe afforded the Emperor, barely even glancing up at where he was seated. Instead, she stood there, awaiting the final horn the was to signal the start of the match. What she was dressed in was clearly meant to titillate and not meant to serve as any measure of protection. Her master always felt it wasn't wise to try and provide a strong gladiator, for few but one could be champion, but sexy ones were all abound. She gave her spear a whirl and then held it in two hands, waiting... Just waiting as she looked over her other. Pretty. Iska was sure her master would certainly like to buy this one